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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23383501">I won't leave you this time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinabug/pseuds/zinabug'>zinabug</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>we're just a million miles from home [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mechanisms (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Carmilla's A+ parenting, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, canon typical carmilla awfulness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:01:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,700</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23383501</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinabug/pseuds/zinabug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>they're siblings and nothing can convince me otherwise. it used to be just them and Camilla on the Aurora, and found family is a good way to stay sane.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dr Carmilla &amp; Jonny d'Ville, Dr Carmilla &amp; Nastya Rasputina, Jonny d'Ville &amp; Nastya Rasputina</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>we're just a million miles from home [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685929</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>228</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I won't leave you this time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title from Sygin by the mechanisms!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Nastya’s hands were always cold now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The quicksilver in her veins didn’t do anything to warm her, and she was shivering, huddled in her empty room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t like it in her room. It was colder than her hands and empty and she was so very alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knew that there was someone else on board the ship, besides the woman - </span>
  <em>
    <span>doctor Carmilla </span>
  </em>
  <span>- with her cold smile and sharp instruments. A man, a year or two older than her. She has seen him when she was hiding in the vents, watched him over and over angrily shoot a target. He had scared her, his eyes very intense and full of anger and pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he wouldn’t shoot her. Maybe she could talk to him and he would talk to her, two people sharing the same pain. Even if he did shoot her, she couldn’t die anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her body ached with cold and pain, unused to the not-blood running through her veins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rubbed her hands together, hunched over herself with the thin blanket in her room over her shoulders. She hadn’t been given anything to wear besides a hospital gown. She wished she could find the engine room again. It was warm there, and she thought she had heard a voice whispering words of comfort to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could hear footsteps in the hall, and looked around wildly for a place to hide and settled for ducking under the bed, dragging the blanket along with her. It was a poor hiding place, and she knew that she would be found almost right away, but it might buy her some time before she was dragged out, kicking and screaming. Carmilla was much stronger than she seemed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A knock on the door, a quiet male voice, “Anastasia?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She peered towards the doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anastasia, are you in there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>the door creaked open. She could see heavy boots, tipped with steel toes. “Why are you under the bed?” he kneeled down next to her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had blonde hair, messy, and was wearing a white button up shirt with a long very dark blue, almost black coat over it. He didn’t look exactly frightening anymore, but there was still an intensity in his eyes that she didn’t like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have something for you if you’ll come out.” he said, gently, like she was a frightened animal. She felt like a frightened animal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Jonny. Do you want me to call you Anastasia?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-” she stopped herself short. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C-call me Nastya?” she asked. Anastasia was too full of pain and fire and blood. She never wanted to hear it again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, Nastya, we’re in the same boat, so I brought you some things.” he offered a hand to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t take it, and pulled herself out from under the bed instead. He stepped away, out of grabbing distance. She silently thanked him for that and bundled herself back into her blanket, sitting on the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here. it’s probably too big, but it's what I’ve got.” he picked up a bundle from the floor. “Your lips are blue. You need to get warm, even though you don’t really have circulation anymore.” he sighed. “Here you go.” he tossed the bundle to her before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bundle contained several button ups, two pairs of pants, a nightdress that probably belonged to Carmilla, and a thick blanket. She threw the nightdress away but dressed in the other clothes. They fit her very well. She was warmer with the new clothes, although her hands were still stiff and cold. They would always be cold. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He came back the next day, handing her a pair of fingerless gloves and a thermos of tea. He pulled two rolls from his pocket and offered her one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took it. It wasn’t very good, but she wasn’t sure how long it had been since she last ate and was so hungry it didn’t matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I made it myself,” he said. “My mother didn’t do shit for me, but she showed me how to make bread and thread a needle at least.” he was sitting on the floor, her on her bed. She noticed that he was wearing two more belts since he came in last. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bread was still warm in her hands, now covered in fingerless gloves. She looked at it and thought of the light airy rolls covered in butter she had eaten in the palace. The humble piece of brown bread in her hands couldn’t compare to them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The third time, he came running in without knocking and grabbed her hand, jerking her out of an uneasy sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Carmilla.” he gasped, and she nodded, and the two of them ran through the twisting corridors of the ship, past empty rooms and dust, Nastya trailing her blanket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nastya realized that she was leading Jonny, pulling him towards the quiet hum of the voice she heard somewhere in the ship. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They found themselves huddled in the engine room, sitting next to each other wrapped in Nastya’s blanket and Nastya holding one of his hands so tightly it almost hurt him. His hands were warm and rough, covered in small burns and scars. Hers were smooth and cold, except for calluses on her fingertips from years of violin playing, her nails bitten down from anxiety. They held onto each other’s hands like their lives depended on it, which they might as well have. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The engine hummed, singing a soothing song to them, and they found themselves asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the first time she had been warm in so long. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He came in the fourth time with his coat draped over his arm and wearing a different one, brown this time. He tossed the coat over her shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you play any instruments?” he asked, sitting in his normal spot on the floor. “Carmilla wants a band.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yes.” she said, surprised and confused. “Violin. Not for a little while though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get you a violin.” he said. “I sing and play the harmonica. Don’t ask why she wants a band, I have no idea why she does anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nastya nodded. The less time thinking about Carmilla, the better. It was hard not to think about her though, when every heartbeat came with an ache and her hands were cold and stiff. She wasn't sure if she could even play the violin with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Figured you needed a coat.” he said. “You’re always shivering, your hands are freezing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blame carmilla.” she smiled and pulled the coat around her shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For everything.” he added on, smiling back. It softened his face, made him look gentle and safe, as much as it amplified that vicious gleam in his eyes, normally mostly hidden. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was always a hint of pain to him, his laugh full of bitterness. She stayed in her room when she could hear gunshots and laughter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carmilla was easy to hide from deep in the heart of the ship, huddled among ducts and gears and wires. Her favorite place was inside the vents, sheltered with the hum and warmth of the ship around her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was crying again, shivering and hiding. There were cuts around her wrists and on the inside of her elbow from breaking free of restraints and needles, dripping quicksilver but already healing. She lightly tapped some of the quicksilver streaming from one of them, watching it shimmer in the dim blue light from Jonny’s penlight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nastya?” someone called into the duct, and she froze in terror before realizing it was Jonny. “Nastya, where are you? I can’t fit in here very well.” his voice was far away, but she could place it. It hadn’t taken long to memorize the paths in the air ducts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knew that he could fit, if she could sit up with her knees to her chest, but he wasn’t going to come in. It was her place here, and both of them knew it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here.” she called softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I killed Carmilla. She’ll be up again, she can’t die, but for now she’s gone.” she could hear him sigh, shakily. “I haven’t done that before.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she climbed out of the vent five minutes later he was leaning on the wall, turning his gun around and around in his hands. She nervously stayed away from him, even though she knew only too well that a gun could easily shoot the width of the hallway.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up. “You’re bleeding. What did she do?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. She tried to tie me down, I was struggling.” Natsya put a hand over the cut inside her elbow. It was still bleeding a lot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dropped his gun and hugged her. She realized for the first time that she was a little taller than him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someday, we’re going to get rid of her.” Jonny said. “And we can adventure and play music forever and be free of her.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We won’t ever be free of her.” Nastya said, feeling quicksilver drip slowly down her arm, feeling the ticking of Jonny’s heart against her own chest. “Not ever in all of eternity because we won’t die.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonny laughed, bitter and familiar. “Oh, I know. You’re new at this, haven’t died so many times you stopped counting, maybe wishing that the next time it’ll stick. Immortality is more of a curse than a blessing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, stepping away from her and picking up the gun. He held it out, offering it to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took it. It was cold and heavy and had two sharp lines carved into the wood of the handle. She rubbed her tumb along them, leaving a smear of quicksilver behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When we kill Carmilla, we add another notch.” he said. “This is yours now. We are going to fight back, fight as long as it takes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded and looked down at the weapon, old and battered, hers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We only have each other and we’re going to make the best out of it.” she said quietly. “I’ll always stick with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonny laughed again, so full of pain. “Promise?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She held out her free hand, glimmering silver, and they shook on it. </span>
</p>
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